But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before —On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’Edgar Allan Poe.